


257 - A Bad Christmas Eve & a Broken Down Train

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: Cute meet, F/M, Fluff, Reader-Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-12
Updated: 2019-01-12
Packaged: 2019-10-08 15:32:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17389016
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt "a fic where u start a new job n start seeing one of the guys that works there, n after meeting quite a bit you find out he’s been meeting and messaging his ex? And idk maybe after that you just wanna get over it and go out and end up meeting van?" and "a fic where Van and Reader are going to a Christmas dinner in a different city and their car fucks up so they're stuck there all night bc there's no one they can call to fix it on Christmas' Eve. It wouldn't be about the holiday, more like them frustrated and then trying to have fun together (maybe they exchange gifts at some point?)"





	257 - A Bad Christmas Eve & a Broken Down Train

When the train carriage was mostly empty, you pulled the compact out of your bag and checked your make-up. While there were no dramatic mascara lines, your tears had displaced a little foundation here and there. Smudging the spots back into place, you sighed hard. What a way to spend Christmas Eve Eve - probably not a truly significant day on the calendar, but you were always a sucker for anticipation.

At first, your new job was perfect - the kind of easy mindless office stuff that you could do without much effort. Clock in. Clock out. No homework. No stress. But then you got a little crush on the guy that showed you how to use the fax machine. You'd laughed about it together. Who the fuck still uses fax machines? 

Chris had flirted and you had flirted back and it was all going so well. You were sure it was A Thing. There were too many drinks after work and too much texting out of hours. In the end, that is what had done it. The texting.

Christmas Eve Eve morning, 2 am, you had been dreaming of eggnog and gingerbread and mistletoe when your phone lit up. A message from Chris greeted you with a name not your own. Sarah was the receptionist at work and apparently, she was a few steps ahead of you. She had earned herself dick pics. You tried to calm yourself down by listing the logical.

1\. You didn't want to date a guy that thought dick pics were a great way of communicating.

2\. You were not actually dating Chris, therefore he owed you nothing.

Whilst you managed to settle, you didn't get back to sleep. Chris didn't text again with an apology or explanation; he was at work the next day though. Hungover. He hadn't even realised what he'd done. All day he continued to be his flirty self. For the first time, you noticed how he spoke to Sarah. 

If it weren't a new job, if you weren't playing nice, you would have leapt out the doors at 5 pm. However, your supervisor came around. "Y/N! Work party. Excited?! You'll really get to know everyone," she said. You nodded and smiled and wanted to die. 

By the non-alcoholic punch bowl, you joked with a guy about the minimum amount of time required to stay. In the toilets, you helped three different girls touch up their makeup. You even sat at your desk and organised all your stationery. Twice. Anything to kill time. When you'd been there for two hours, you snuck through the office and into the stairwell; the elevator was a clunky old thing that drew attention with its noisy stops.

Chris. Chris and Sarah. Making out, hands under clothes, limbs all tangled.

Bursting into tears, you ran down the stairs and straight down the street. Nobody chased you, but you ran like they were. By the time you got to the tube, you were too out of breath to cry. And as the carriage emptied, you thought about how you must look.

Foundation fixed and only a couple stops until you were home, you slouched in the chair and looked around. There were two other people in the carriage with you. A guy with headphones in and his face buried in a book. He was scribbling away and you couldn't tell if he was writing or drawing; the movements were too erratic. You couldn't see his face, just a mess of brown hair and a sharp nose.

The second person was a woman, maybe mid to late thirties. She had enough shopping bags with her that you suspected she'd left all her Christmas shopping to the last minute. At least it wasn't Christmas Eve though, just Christmas Eve Eve. As you spied on her, you tried to guess what she had in the bags. Who were the gifts for? What was her family like?

The train stopped and the women stood and left. You made eye contact when you didn’t look away fast enough. She gave you a warm smile, to which you returned. It was the type of small, altruistic kindness you'd always loved about strangers. 

The train started to move again and as it plunged into a tunnel, you checked your phone. Every single part of you expected messages and missed calls, but there was nothing. Before you had a chance to react, the train stopped again. It wasn't a designated stop though. There was no gentle slowing either, just a harsh slamming stop, accompanied by pitch blackness. Both you and the one other guy in the carriage were thrown from your chairs with appropriate cuss words and yelps of surprise.

The lights flickered eerily before coming back on.

"Ah, fuck," the guy said. He stood and picked his book and pen off the floor before shoving them into his backpack. He looked around then, for you. "Miss? Where'd ya go?"

He crossed the carriage quickly and found you on the floor. "Fuck! Ah, Miss?" he asked as he dropped to his knees and gently patted at your cheeks like he'd seen in the movies. "Love? You okay?" Your eyes fluttered open, also like in the movies. "Oh, thank fuck," he said on a breath out, but his joy was short-lived as you moaned your way to life. He helped you sit up.

"Wha' happened?" you asked.

"Ah. Dunno. Train just stopped outta nowhere. You must've hit your head. You bleeding?" Without an answer, he started to comb through your hair. Too weak and too spacey to respond, you let him. It felt kind of nice, actually. "No blood. That's good. Got a fair egg on ya head though. Unless that's always how ya look? Still dead cute though. Even with it."

You looked at him. He was grinning like you weren't both in an emergency situation.

As you stood, the guy's arms were held out, ready to catch you if you fell. You sat back on the seat and looked around, then watched as the guy picked up your things from the floor and piled them carefully next to you.

"Do you have any water?" you asked him.

"Yeah! Always do."

He continued the talk, chatter about never leaving home without a bottle… and always having a bottle to fill up… and how bars and restaurants can't actually deny you water… and you really weren't listening. The tunnel was holding more of your attention. The lack of train movement too. 

He was back, handing you a bottle. He watched you drink intently. It didn’t make you feel weird or self-conscious though. You handed the empty bottle to him.

"Feelin' alright, love? Must have hit your head pretty hard,"

"Yeah. Yeah. I'm okay. Thanks,"

"All good… I'm Van," he said as he sat in the chair opposite you, relaxing into it. He seemed less bubbly… less jumpy… now that you were coherent.

"Y/N… Is there like… an intercom thing? To talk to the driver?"

Van stood and moved to the doors. He pressed the emergency door open button. Alas, no response. The same was produced by the alert driver button. The lights flicked off again.

"Fuck," Van said. A stream of light appeared. Van had his phone out and shined it over at you, blinding you for a second before he held it only near you. "You okay? Not afraid of the dark or nothing?"

You laughed a little. "No. I'm good."

Van returned to his seat. Switching the torch app off, he said, "Save battery in case we're stuck in here forever,"

"I don't think we will be,"

"Never know. All sorts of weird things happen like that. See it on telly, you know what I mean? People trapped places. Soon we'll be drinking each other's piss!"

"What? Why would we be drinking… each other's? Can't I drink my own?" you questioned through the dark.

"If you wanna drink your piss, babe, be my guest," he replied. The smirk was audible.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a voice over a speaker announced. It crackled painfully. "Sorry for er, the inconvenience. Electric shortage… Must be all the Christmas lights!" It was an attempt at a joke. Instead of the sound of crickets, there was white noise. "We're tryna' get going… er, soon as we can. Have the lights back on shortly… Eh… Sorry for the inconvenience… Thank you."

"Could be worse," Van said when the sound of the speaker popped out. "Could be Christmas Eve,"

"I guess. Kinda a perfect ending to today," you replied, mumbling.

Van paused. "Bad day then?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

He paused again and you heard him hold in a snigger. "Alright. You brought it up. Not me… Wanna know about my day?"

"Was it good? 'Cause I don't think I can take anymore bad," you replied.

"You sure you don't wanna talk about it? You're doing that weird hinty thing girls do,"

"I'm not doing a weird hinty thing. Tell me about your fucking day,"

"Alright! Jeez. Just being nice… So, I signed a contract today. Guess what for?" he said with heavy pride in his voice. It had to be something important. He bought something? A car? A house? No. You remembered seeing the duct tape around the strap of his backpack. A job then.

"Dream job?" you tried.

"Yes! Yes, love! Well… I guess you'd call it a job. Worked for it. I'm in a band, see. We got signed. Always thought it was a one night thing, you know? Like, someone would see our band and whip out a bit of paper and we'd sign it then and there. Turns out we gotta have a lawyer look at it. Processing time. All that stuff. But today was it. Signed the contract. Gonna make a record. Tour the world. Buy me mum a jacuzzi and all that. It's gonna be fuckin' monster."

Although you couldn't see him, couldn't see the light in his expression or his hands flying through the air in earnest passion, couldn't see his kind eyes or beautiful lips, couldn't see how gorgeous he was when he was talking about music, couldn't see the best parts of him, you fell in love. In the falling, you were speechless. 

Instead of prompting any sort of response, Van simply waited for you.

The lights came on. You and Van both closed your eyes instinctively, then slowly opened them again. Looking at each other, you smiled.

"Ah… That's kinda incredible… I don't even know what to say. Congrats? Jesus…" you said.

All of a sudden, Van seemed bashful. He blushed, looked down and shrugged.

"Still don't wanna talk 'bout your bad day? I'm a good listener," Van tried again.

You sighed and looked at him. He leaned forward and nodded; you laughed.

"Alright. So… I just started this new job and me and this guy kinda had a thing, you know? Just a bit of flirting, messaging, stuff like that-" you started.

"What's his name?" Van asked, interrupting.

"Ah, Chris.”

Van made a childish face of disgust. "Never met a good Chris. Can see where this one is going," he said, tapping his nose. You were sure there were plenty of good people named Chris. You'd never met another Van, so you couldn't really apply any of that logic to his name.

"Right… Well… this morning, like, morning morning, before I was up, he sends me this message but it's meant for another girl. It's got her name in it-" 

"Picture of his cock?"

"Yes! The fuck, right? Why? Even though I liked him, I didn't want…"

"Yeah. Gotta wait until at least the second date to be trying that on," Van said with a smirk. You shook your head at him. "Joking! I'm only joking,"

"Anyway. Wasn't it for me, like I said. I just… I don't know. Pretended it didn't happen. Went to work and he was all normal and stuff, all flirty. But he's doing the same with the other girl, 'cause she works with us too. And we had the office party and I walked in on them hooking up. It's not like we were dating, but… yeah…"

Van waited until he was sure you were finished before speaking. "I don't think you gotta explain why you're sad 'bout it. Don't matter that you weren't all… official. Whatever. Bit of a dog move to do that. 'Specially since you'll work together… Think you're probably better than that, you know what I mean? You deserve someone better than…"

"Chris,"

"Chris! Fuckin' Chris. My dad plays rugby and his rugby mates are fuckin' massive. Can sic 'em on Chris if ya want?"

You laughed but Van didn't. "No! What? No. Oh my god. It's okay," you said shrugging. "Work will just be awkward now,"

"Quit then. Get a new job. Or tell ya boss Chris send a picture of his cock and get him fired. That's what I would do," Van said nodding and sitting up straight.

"That's super salty. Possibly unethical too,"

"Nah, love. Or, you could quit and I'll hire ya to be a roadie. Won't make you do anything. Can just sit about listening to good music," Van said with a weird sincerity. If you had said yes, Van probably would have made it happen.

"Think you have to be well famous before you can be doing stuff like that for friends," you replied.

"So we friends then?" he said back quickly, not missing a beat. When you didn't respond, he chuckled to himself and sat back in the chair. "You was going home then?" You nodded. "I am off to see a friend. Was running late already. I'll get there just in time for goodbyes at this rate. And I forgot to get like, a present. Hate being an adult, you know. Have to get housewarming presents and stuff,"

"I got a bottle of wine from my work that I won't drink. You can have it. Wine is a good housewarming gift," you offered.

"Babe! Nah, I couldn't,"

"Seriously. Take it," you said, pulling the bottle from the bottom of your bag and handing it over. It sat in Van's hands, a little lost. You leaned across and pulled the little card from the ribbon. "Consider it an early Christmas present from me to you,"

"Not very personal, is it? And I didn't get you anything,"

"You checked to see if I was okay before. That can be my gift," you told him.

"Your bar for a gift is low," Van laughed. "But thank you. Thank you very much."

You nodded in response.

And the conversation continued to the rhythm of Van's constant tapping and your loudly beating heart. The seconds melted to minutes, which rolled into an hour. It was almost 10 pm and the windows of the train carriage were cold to touch. Without stopping his story, Van pulled his hoodie off and handed it to you. With no break in speech, there was no room for argument. You pulled the oversized jumper on, and absolutely revelled in the warmth and smell of boy.

A few minutes later, Van stopped talking to loudly groan.

"What?" you asked, already knowing the problem.

"I know we joked 'bout drinking pee, but dehydration shouldn't have been our biggest worry. I gotta piss so bad," he whispered in a whine. His legs were crossed and he was bouncing on the spot.

"I'm sorry but I don't think there is any solution."

Van looked around with a sad face, then inspiration struck. He stood up and ran to the doors. They wouldn’t open, so he let his head fall forward and hit them with a heavy thump. More inspiration! He gasped, then called for the driver.

"Hello? Mate?" he asked through the little intercom.

"That didn't work before," you stated.

"Probably 'cause everyone was at 'im, tryna' ask what was going on," Van replied. Logical.

A voice came through. "Still working on it. Should-"

Van frantically pressed the button. "Mate! No, mate. Just wondering if you'll unlock the door for a second,"

"Can't do that. People on the tracks is no good,"

"Not gonna go out. Just… I'm gonna fucking piss myself," Van said with a comical amount of desperation. He shot you a look when he heard you giggling.

There was a silence for a count of one. Two. Three. "Only for a minute. Then they'll lock. Slam shut. You get me? Chop it right off if you're not careful," the driver said, then the doors flew open.

"Don't you be watching," Van called over his shoulder as he unzipped.

"Yeah, 'cause that's my thing. Watching strangers pee in train tunnels,"

"Well I don't know what you're into, love," Van replied.

As he plonked himself back in the seat, happy and a little less jittery, you threw him a little bottle of hand sanitiser. He read the label like it was a completely foreign concept to him. Over the P.A. system, the driver told passengers to steer clear of doors and they shut once again.

"Better?"

"Yes. Thank you."

It was easy listening to Van talk. He asked you a million questions and while you were happy to answer them in detail, you really just wanted him to tell you about every single thing that had ever happened to him. He was suspicious of it, of course, and as you laid down across the row of seats, your bag acting as a pillow, Van eyed you off.

"Why you wanna know so much about me?" he asked.

You shrugged. "Don't know. Like listening to you talk," you answered honestly. He smiled a small, equally honest smile. You'd caught him off guard. "Besides. Good practice for when you're famous. NME and Rolling Stones interviews and all that,"

"Yeah. I do that in the shower. Pretend I'm doing the interviews. Got it all worked out,"

"I bet you do," you replied with a yawn.

"You ain't fallin' asleep on me are you?! I'm not even a touch tired. I'll get bored if you fall asleep!"

You shrugged again, closing your eyes and wriggling on the spot. You listened as Van rustled around in his bag then came closer. You opened your eyes to find him kneeling in front of you, wine bottle in hand.

"What are you doing?" you asked.

"Think we're gonna be here for a bit. Think you're already havin' a late one and I've missed my party. Think we may as well make the best of it,"

"I don't like red wine," you replied, watching him open the bottle and take a swig. He made a face then read the label.

"This is not very good wine," he announced, taking another swig then handing it to you. Sighing, you sat up and tried it. He was right; the shit was disgusting. You went to give him the bottle back. "Nah-ah. We're doing this," he said casually, resting his arms on your legs. You took another swig.

That's how it happened. That's how you got drunk and Van got only a little bit drunk on an empty train carriage that was going nowhere fast. You were on the floor, side by side, giggling. The bottle was empty and you were leaning on each other.

"This is the worst Christmas Eve Eve ever," you slurred.

"Worst what? Christmas Eve…"

"Eve Eve… Worst one," you repeated.

"Aw, love. I don't know. Not all bad from my perspective," he said with a grin that you weren't looking at.

You'd spotted the notebook Van had been writing in before. It was hanging out of his backpack. You crawled along the floor of the carriage to the chair the bag was on, then pulled the book out.

"Wha's this?" you asked Van.

He watched you open it and flick through. They were poems. Lyrics! The band, of course… lyrics. You tried to read some, but the words jumped off the page and wriggled their way out of your attention. Van's messy handwriting didn't help.

"I steal a lot'a lyrics from people… Overhear 'em talkin' and I hear somethin' and I just go 'oh! I'll have that!' and write it down, you know what I mean?" he answered. "You alright there. Feeling alright?"

"Can you read it?" you asked, crawling back to him and handing the book over.

Snuggling down and pushing your way under his arm, you looked up at him. He chuckled and nodded.

Van read bits and pieces for the good part of fifteen minutes before you fell asleep. He was reading in a soft tone, a lulled voice that was entirely comforting. While you napped, Van worried about what he was meant to do if the train started to move again. Obviously, wake you up, but would that put a sudden stop to the little thing going on? Because he certainly did not want that to happen. It had always been easy for him to talk to people, to tell people all the happy details of his life, but it was different with you. And while he couldn't figure out why, and honestly- he didn't really care, he just knew he didn't want you to disappear.

His crisis was averted when you snapped awake from a wine induced bad dream. You looked up at him, hazy and warm.

"Want the good news or the bad news?" he asked.

"Bad," you whispered.

"We're still stuck here and it's official Christmas Eve Day,"

"What's the good news?" you asked, frowning and sure no amount of good could justify that amount of bad.

"We're still stuck here and it's official Christmas Eve Day," he said with a cheeky grin. "I'm hungry but otherwise, I'm not real bothered,"

"Yeah… You're definitely an optimist," you replied.

"It's got me this far."

Smiling at him, you nodded. His life did seem to be weirdly fucking peachy keen.

"I had a thought while you were asleep… It's Christmas, so we should get each other presents," Van said. You narrowed your eyes at him in confusion. "Don't gimme that look, you Grinch. Think a little creatively, alright? We got ten minutes to think of something, then we swap. Okay?"

"Um. No. Unfair. You've had more than ten minutes 'cause you were thinking of stuff while I was asleep," you replied, utterly outraged.

Van laughed. "Well, you can have ten and I'll have five. I really don't think things through that much, love, but it's nice that you think I do."

You were left alone when Van took his backpack and skipped off to the other end of the carriage. Looking through your own bag, you couldn't think of anything that remotely could serve as a gift. If you were in a store, easy. You could think of a million and one gifts for Van, even after knowing him only for a couple of hours. Sneaking a peek over at Van, he was face down in his notebook. Fuck the poet.

Ten minutes later, Van returned, pulling your hood up over your head.

"Keep that on. It's cold," he said as he sat.

"Thanks, Mum," you replied.

"Do you wanna go first or do you want me to?" he asked happily, bouncing on the spot.

"Do you-"

"Yes. I'll go," he said. Instantly, he held out a folded piece of paper. Van's eyes burned into you as you read the words in your head. "It's, ah… it's got a tune… I'd play it but I don't got a guitar on me," he whispered.

You were sure you had never held anything heavier. The paper was lead or osmium or something unnatural. You couldn’t take your eyes off it. The letters written in cheap black ink went fuzzy and the lines started to blur.

"You wrote me a song?" you whispered back.

"Yeah. I'm a fast writer…" And when you said nothing more, he got nervous and kept going. "Some people say it takes them ages to write one, you know? But I just sit down and write the thing. Got loads of stuff I can write about. And, ah, like, you, you know? Meeting you and your pretty little face. It's easy to write a love song."

He shut up when he said it, hoping you weren't about to sit up and smack him.

As soon as the word 'love' hit the air, you looked up, eyes going glassy and lips parted.

"My turn."

Maybe you had said that out loud, but only loud enough for your own ears. Maybe Van heard too, the words cemented in his memory forever and ever. Or maybe your internal monologue spoke it just to you, to prompt you into messy and romantic action. 

You launched yourself into Van's arms and like he'd done it a thousand times before, he caught you easily and gently. In all your life of kissing friends and dates and frogs and lovers, you'd never kissed like that, nor had you been kissed like that. When your lips parted, you stayed connected. Van's hand was on the back of your head, fingers tangled in your hair. His eyes were closed and he was grinning ear to ear.

"Was that my present?" he whispered.

You laughed into him, nodding, and ready to dish out more festive cheer. Maybe it wasn't such a bad Christmas Eve Eve after all.


End file.
